So sue me
by speakingwordsofwisdom
Summary: So maybe Santana does Brittanys homework for her occaisionally  read:always . So what? My first Brittana fic


This was intended as a fic based around a quote, but it turned into this instead. So please r and r, my lovely people =)

xxx

So maybe i help Brittany with her homework sometimes. Wait. Scratch that. Ok, so maybe i do Brittanys homework for her sometimes.

So sue me. So kill me, so rip out my teeth with rusty pliars. We cheat. She cheats, i cheat, he, she, it, cheats.

Give me a break. With so much other shit going on every day here, you'd think they have more to worry about than the stupid details like the fact that Brittanys curly, loopy handwriting magically morphs into my own messy scrawl whenever we have an essay or something set, but no.

Every day, while Berry rinses the slushy out of her hair in the bathroom, and Kurt crawls out of a dumpster and some nameless freshman is tripped in the hallway by some kid who doesn't even know their name, the stupid teachers at this school decide to ignore all that, and choose instead to go all "Law and Order", interrogating me AND Britt about how much help i give her. (Not that it botherd me- i can be ice-queen-bitch chilled without even trying, and they didn't scare Britt either, since Sue Sylvestre pretty much de-sensitized us years ago).

They don't seem to understand that i HAVE to help. Leave Brittany to do her own homework, and you can bet your life that even if she actually remembers to do it, she'll turn it in done in crayon, if thats the first pen she picks up, or with more doodles on the page than there is actual writing.

And then they start shaking their heads, and talking about "educationally challenged" and "remedial support" and (one terrible time) "speacial school".

So nine times out of ten, i help, and Brittany gets to hand in a nice, normal C-average paper (because, come on, they're not utterly stupid, and C is a pass, but not so high they get suspicious). It used to be ten times out of ten, but Britt has the tragic flaw of being an honest person. She was so upset at the thought of doing something dishonest (and Quinn SO did not help, what with all her "lies are sins" talk. Well, screw her. It wasn't HER best friend in the entire world, in the universe, on the line) that it took me ages to persuade her to let me help, and even longer to convince her that the benefits of cheating outweighed the costs here (in the end, i told her they'd been talking about speacial school, which scared her nearly as much as it did me).

So we did a deal: most days, i'd help. Once a month, she could hand in a piece of homework, completed without any help, in the name of being honest. (One of these pieces of work was her report on hear attacks. Go figure).

But only once a month- there was no way i was running any more of a risk, not when they were plotting to take Britt away. I couldn't chance it.

Oh, sure, what they said MIGHT have been true. Sure, she MIGHT have benefitted from the extra help. Sure, she MIGHT have wonderful teachers there. Sure, she MIGHT make plenty of new friends. Sure, she MIGHT find just as good a dance and gynmastics programme at any speacial school as she had at McKinley.

But then again, maybe not.

They all thought i was worried about Britt coping at school without me...and in a way, it was true, because half the time, she couldn't remember her own timetable, let alone how to get to the classes, so its not like my worry wasn't totally justified.

But...in a bigger way, it wasn't Brittany i was worried about at all. It was me.

Brittany- smiley, sweet, sunny Brittany- would always be able to find people to befriend, people who would help her out, because that was who she was, and it was impossible NOT to like her.

But i was Santana Lopez- bitch, ice-queen, the slut, the girl with the boob job. The girl everyone feared, and was too afraid to like. I saw the bad in people first- the irritating, the abrasive, the cruel and the fucked up. I saw it in myself most of all, and how on earth was i going to survive in this sea of people all so bitter, so hurtful, so messed up, so much like me, without Brittany, to remind me that there was still innocence, there was still sweetness, there was still someone who loved me- unconditionally and unquestionably- for me, there was still kindness.

Without Brittany, i would go under. I would sink, i would drown ,and probably, no one would care.

Really, i need Brittany more than she needs me. People think i'm the protector, the fighter, but really, i'm only repaying a debt: Brittany was the one who approached me when we were four, and the other children laughed at my accent, laughed at my clothes, laughed when i was too afraid to ask for help with my worksheet or to go to the bathroom or to get a drink of water. Brittany was the one who ignored everyone else, and insisted on sitting next to me in class and playing with me at recess, even when i didn't talk at all. Brittany was the one who waited and waited for me to come out of my shell, and defended me against practically the entire first and second grade.

Is it really so surprising that i help her now? They think helping with homework is big?

They have no fucking idea.


End file.
